


What Did You Expect

by skullage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>have post break up sex / that helps you forget your ex / what did you expect / from post break up sex?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Did You Expect

Zayn should know better than to let Louis stick his tongue down Zayn's throat in the middle of a crowded club while Harry watches from across the dance floor. He knows why Louis does it, that it's only jealousy and spite and revenge on Louis's part to make Harry hurt the way Louis hurts, to get back at Harry for the way the break up turned him into a walking heartache that he spent three weeks on Zayn's couch nursing and still isn't over, but Zayn doesn't push Louis away. He didn't when Louis needed him before, a shoulder to cry on and a body to curl around, and he doesn't now when Louis presses their mouths together, with a hand around the back of Zayn's neck.

It serves Zayn right for suggesting a night out in an effort to take Louis's mind off it all. Louis eventually caved, only to have run into Harry here, some dive in East London they'd never heard of until tonight, reducing Zayn to a casualty in a tragedy he was only a spectator to before. Zayn's plans never seem to work out the way he intends. Louis's face is drawn and he's gasping into the kiss, his entire body lit up with intent. Zayn pulls away when his common sense gets the better of him.

"What," Louis grumbles, chasing his mouth again.

From what Zayn can see, Harry's still watching them, staring like he's caught in headlights, looking far too young and shabbily dressed to be there. On some level Zayn still sympathises with him, despite his loyalty to Louis -- doesn't excuse Harry for what he did, for what he turned Louis into -- but Harry's too young not to make mistakes, and a love like that could never burn so brightly without hurting one of them. It doesn't mean Zayn wants to be caught in the middle.

"You know what. The hell are you doing, Lou?"

Louis stares up at him, almost pleadingly, and his vulnerability pulls at Zayn's heartstrings. "I don't know," Louis confesses, but Zayn does. The heartbreak is still written on Louis’s face, dictating his actions to the point where, even after three weeks, Louis can't look at a bowl of cereal without mentioning that Harry used to eat it with him.

"You're not doing yourself any favours, mate," Zayn says. He can still taste Louis on his tongue and it unsettles him, the same way Louis's body pressed against his unsettles him like it never has before. From the corner of his eye he sees Harry shuffle away. Clearly Louis's point has been made.

Louis pulls back, looking suddenly small and ashamed. He looks up towards the other side of the club, but Harry's gone. "I think," he starts, pushing his face into Zayn's shoulder and quiet enough that Zayn has to strain to hear him over the music. "I think I want to go home."

Zayn helps him up off the couch and they leave, no sign of Harry as they push their way through the crowd. Louis is quiet on the cab ride home, and Zayn feels like kissing him if it means he'll get the old Louis back.

~

The next morning Zayn wakes to the smell of coffee drifting through his room, and Louis standing at the end of his bed with a tray of breakfast. The breakfast is burnt toast and jam, but it's the first time in weeks Louis's been up before Zayn, and the first time he's ever made breakfast. While he snuggles down into Zayn's still-warm bed, he explains the effort he went to trying to figure out how to work the coffee machine, and Zayn half-listens while munching a piece of toast.

"So it's pretty simple, I don't know why you've never let me touch the thing before."

"Worried that you'd break it," Zayn replies, and Louis swats him on the arm.

"Shut it, I'm not that hopeless." Louis steals the second piece of toast and chases it down with a sip of coffee. Lying together in bed before nine feels eerily domestic, and Zayn covers a hush of awkward silence by turning to his own coffee.

"S'good," he says, and Louis swells with pride. "So, uh, this wouldn't have anything to do with last night, would it?"

Louis sniffs and pulls at the sleeve of his henley. "Dunno what you mean."

"Yeah, ok. I mean, it's great to see you, y'know--" Zayn gestures vaguely at him "--showered and dressed--"

"Oh, wow, go easy on the compliments," Louis grumbles.

"--but you can talk to me, yeah?" Zayn punctuates the sentiment by knocking their shoulders together. Louis rolls his eyes.

"Feels like I've done nothing but talk for the past two weeks." He settles back into the mattress, turning his head up to face Zayn in a unconscious imitation of the night before, a minute before Louis decided to kiss him.

Zayn resists the urge to scoff. "Um, Lou, you've barely said a thing. About how you are or anything. I'm not saying you have to tell me, but I don't really know how you're coping if you don't."

Louis shrugs. "I figured out how to work the coffee machine."

Zayn huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, alright then." Louis grins and rests his head on Zayn's shoulder, nestling further back into the bed.

"You're my best friend, you know that?"

Zayn bites back the immediate "I thought Harry was your best friend" that comes to mind, because Harry isn't now. Harry isn't a lot of things. Instead he replies, "I know," and drains the last of his coffee.

~

"So, how'd it go?" Liam asks, as soon as Zayn walks in the door. He's peppy and cheery in a way Zayn could never be before ten am on a Saturday, mainly because Liam is Liam and he's peppy no matter what day it is. Also because he likes his humble life as a used furniture salesman-slash-business owner, and Zayn hates waking up on Saturdays.

"Not so good. Pretty much worse than could have been expected." Zayn ignores the look Liam gives him requiring more details and instead goes to chuck his bag in the back room. There's an old table piled with matching chairs that's kind of splintered in places, paint peeling, and generally looking as dejected as Zayn's hangover makes him feel. The back room hadn't been this crowded when Zayn locked up the afternoon before. He only just manages to squeeze through to throw his bag in the corner.

"What happened?" Liam asks when Zayn comes back out.

"We ran into Harry and Louis kissed me."

"Oh," Liam replies, then, slowly, "oh?" He raises his eyebrows in a look that's as endearing as it is perfectly earnest in his compassion. Zayn kind of hates that Liam cares so much, but only because it's Saturday.

"Yeah, so like. On a scale of natural and man-made disasters--"

"I'm sure it could have been worse," Liam interjects.

"I didn't have to rub his back while he vomited into the loo, so, yeah, maybe."

Liam wrinkles his nose, but serves him right for being optimistic, Zayn thinks bitterly. He had to do that for Liam, once, too, but that's probably the one night of his life Liam doesn't remember, and Zayn's conscience stops him from mentioning it.

“Did you kiss him back?”

Zayn freezes. “I don’t think so?”

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but instead drops the subject. Zayn thanks him by grabbing a sanding block and taking his frustration out on the table in the back room.

Lunch time rolls around too soon and Zayn still has two more chairs to sand down, so he just agrees to whatever Liam offers and keeps working. He doesn't feel like facing the world today. It has nothing to do with the fact that Harry works at the bakery on Saturdays, really. The only other options are an overpriced Indian restaurant and service station pies and Zayn would rather reupholster cushions with a headache than face that awkward mess.

Liam brings him back a pasty and a coke, so at least Zayn doesn't have to work on an empty stomach.

~

When Zayn gets home, stinking of lacquer and covered in wood shavings, Louis's hunched at the table over a newspaper, glasses on, sucking on the end of a pen. He hisses when Zayn scrubs a hand through his hair.

"Watch it, you tit. These roots don't regenerate themselves."

Zayn laughs and wipes his hand on his shirt. "Whatcha doin', Lou?"

"Job hunting." He chews on the end of the pen thoughtfully. "Thought I might start pulling my own weight, since you've been putting up with me."

Zayn shrugs. "No big deal. What happened with the bookshop?"

"Pretty sure they'd be pissed I haven't shown up in almost a month, more than welcoming me back with open arms. 'Oh, Louis, we've missed you so much! Don't let our hectic and demanding schedule get in the way of your social life', etcetera."

Zayn snorts, then, "Wait, you didn't tell them?"

"That my boyfriend cheated on me with Legs from the metro ads? No, I wanted to save a little bit of my dignity, thanks. Would've been hilarious, though, so maybe I'll write it down and tell it at parties." He flips through the rest of the paper, looking bored and agitated.

Zayn gives up and flicks the kettle on. He feels a vibration in his pocket and pulls out his phone, chest clenching when he reads the missed call under Harry's name. He pockets his phone quickly, turning to the sink to hide whatever his expression might give away.

Louis must notice, because he asks "Good news?"

"Missed a call from mum." Zayn keeps his voice even, but can't stave off the spike of guilt at lying. "I'll call her back later." He busies himself by pulling mugs and teabags from the cupboard.

"Tsk tsk," Louis warns, still flicking idly through the paper. "You've been getting a lot of those lately, someone might think you didn't want to answer."

There's nothing in Louis's voice that gives him away, but the awkwardness descends again, and Zayn can't help but feel the distance between them, boarded up in subtext like a blockade. He never kept anything from Louis until Harry started calling, but he never really kept anything from Harry, either. Zayn knew him when he was just a floppy-haired teenager, caught up in Louis's bright eyes and charm, and Zayn hates that the relationship that brought him and Harry together has meant the end to their friendship as much as Harry and Louis's.

"Tea?" Zayn asks, setting a cup down in front of Louis.

"Thanks babe." Louis winks.

When Zayn heads into his room, he deletes the call. It shouldn't be as damning as it is. Zayn shouldn't feel he's in the wrong, after everything he's done and how hard he's tried to be loyal, but if it wasn't wrong, then he wouldn't have to hide it.

~

Later, they're lying together on the couch, Masterchef on the telly with the sound turned down, continuing the pattern they started when Louis came to live on Zayn's couch and Zayn didn't trust Louis wouldn't smother himself with a cushion the minute he exited the room. The secret ingredient is peppers. Louis has Zayn's fingers wrapped around his own.

Louis rolls over onto his back and Zayn's left looking down at him again, arm around Louis's stomach, legs entangled. As far as romanticism goes it's pretty bare, there's no tension or any music to set the mood or much build up, unless their entire friendship counts. It's just Louis's hand on Zayn's neck to bring him down until they're kissing, this time slow, exploratory, sweet. Zayn's watched Louis kiss Harry hundreds of times and this kiss feels how theirs always looked. The clenching in Zayn's chest is the same.

Zayn runs his fingers through Louis's hair and Louis gasps, sucks on Zayn's tongue to deepen the kiss. His hands grab at Zayn's waist, his long, smooth fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Zayn's jeans, his foot rubbing along the back of Zayn's calf. Zayn shifts until he's on top, until he can press down and feel the jut of Louis's hipbones on his own, and from then it doesn't take long until they start to lose clothing. Zayn's belt, their shirts, Louis's sweats, all tossed aside with mutual disregard. Zayn gets his mouth on Louis's stomach, pressing kisses and sucking marks and before long Louis's squirming beneath him, skin already flushed and sweating lightly in the humid air, pushing Zayn up but following just as quick.

"Bedroom," Louis orders, and Zayn raises an eyebrow.

"Bit eager, aren't you."

Louis stares with a heat in his eyes that does things to Zayn, and yeah, he's being a dick and he doesn't know why, but Louis could tell him they're breaking into Harry's to fuck in front of him and Zayn wouldn't say no. Probably. It's scary what Louis makes him feel.

"Do you have any idea just how fucking hot you are?" Louis says it so matter-of-factly and with so much snark the compliment is almost lost.

Zayn opens his mouth to answer, but Louis is shirtless and sitting in his lap and, oh fuck, looking as hard as Zayn feels, so he doesn't bother. They make their way to the bedroom, the only one in the apartment, shedding the rest of their clothes as they go until Zayn's got Louis naked and pressed into the sheets, a hand, a mouth around his cock, fingers opening him up and coaxing out moans, only pushing in when Louis begs him to.

Louis falls asleep right after, his hair a mess and his body lax enough to shove around until Zayn gets comfortable. Zayn watches him for a minute, his soft breathing, eyelids fluttering, long enough for the pride to subside and the hot lash of reality to settle in.

~

The bed is empty when Zayn wakes up, the right side gone cold. He rolls over to check the time on his phone and finds a message from Harry and one from Liam. The first reads: _hey hows everything? lets catch up been too long_ , the second: _zayn waht did yu doo??_

It's Sunday. Zayn point blank refuses to put out fires that he'll deny to the death he started, or be implicated in any more. After contemplating rolling over and sleeping through everyone else's midlife crises, he gets out of bed, makes a pit stop in the bathroom to splash water over his face and throws on a pair of drop crotch trousers that definitely aren't his. By the time he makes it past the empty living room and into the empty kitchen, he's halfway alive.

"Lou?" he calls, and gets no reply. "Louis?"

The apartment isn't that big. If Louis was there, he'd have heard. He'd probably have woken Zayn up with a song, obnoxious morning cheer and ridiculous thighs, energised and smelling of sex like he used to when it was Harry he was morning-fucking. Zayn doesn't know what this means, if it means anything, but what he saw from Louis the day before was more the usual Louis than he's been in a long time. If all Louis needed was a lay, then Zayn is happy to have helped.

He forgoes breakfast and makes coffee instead, flicking through his phone until he reaches Liam, who answers on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"What's happening, Li."

Zayn can hear the relief in his voice. "Thank god, I was going to call but I didn't want to wake you. Louis's here."

Zayn stifles a yawn. "Where's 'here'? Yours?"

"Niall's," Liam answers. He sounds a bit agitated, but, then again, Liam usually sounds agitated when Louis's around. In the background Zayn hears whispers and the slap of skin before Liam quietly warns, _stop it_ , followed by giggling that could only be Louis.

Zayn laughs, says, "Awesome, man, thanks for letting me know. Wait, aren't you meant to be working today? Am I?"

"No, no, I took the day off. Why, did you want to?"

"Piss off," Zayn murmurs. "I'll be over in a tic."

He hears Liam's stuttered goodbye and a shout from the other end that's presumably Louis tackling him to the ground. He texts Harry back against the warring in his gut, a perfunctory _yeah mate, let me know when ur free_ , and heads for the shower to get clean.

~

Niall's apartment is the kind of bachelor pad that suits him perfectly: clothes everywhere, broken central heating, empty tinnies littered on every surface, computer hooked up to a brand new plasma in the living room that's more of a bedroom with the amount of time he spends awake and asleep there. Zayn had the choice of living with him when they were in college, and he doesn't regret living with his parents an extra year to save up for his own place. They were all over enough during those couple years of spastic parties that he practically lived there anyway, helped drag kegs over every weekend and stayed each time for the morning-after clean up. The parties don't happen as frequently anymore, but the mess is still the same. That kind of lifestyle never dies.

When Zayn makes his way into the living room, it's still cluttered and full of people, except this time there's a fort that covers the entire room, made of sheets and couch pillows instead of drunk, semi naked bodies. The blinds are drawn and the lights off, but the lamp light under the fort casts silhouettes onto the sheets. Over the sound of whatever synth-pop is playing through the surround sound, Zayn can hear them whispering and giggling like teenagers, Niall's muffled laughter, Louis's enthusiasm bursting out of him.

He clears his throat and bends down to rap his knuckles on the floor. Louis pokes his head out between the opening of the fort, bangs pushed back off his forehead making him look like a teenager again.

"Hi, Snookums," Louis purrs. His nose and ears are tinged pink and there's a faint smell of brew on his breath.

"So this is looking for a job, huh?"

Louis sniffs. "I'll have you know I applied for three while you were still asleep. Reputable and all. Totally over the counter. Only one deals through a back alley, but that was the fun one."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Gonna let me in?"

"Hmm." Louis narrows his eyes contemplatively. "Do you have the password?" Niall's full on laughing now, Zayn can hear it, not even bothering to hide it.

"Is it, 'Louis likes to su-'"

"--Oi." Louis stops him with a frown. "None of that foul language, thanks. We're all gentlemen here."

Zayn chuckles. "I was gonna say, 'Louis likes to surprise me with breakfast in bed'."

"Oh,” Louis pouts. “That's not it."

"How about, 'Zayn likes to surprise Louis with breakfast in bed'?"

Louis grins. "That's much better," he says, and scoots back on his knees to let Zayn in. Niall's lying back on the floor sunk deep into a beanbag, can rested on his stomach and a cooler full of them within arms reach; Liam's over the other side propped up by a pile of throw pillows. Zayn picks out the most well-padded section of rug and grabs a pillow, catches the beer Niall tosses his way. From the patches of red colouring his cheeks and chest where his tank top's slipped down, the lopsided grin that follows the can, Niall's already had a few.

"Lads," Zayn salutes as he holds up his drink. Niall lets out an _aye_ , clinks their tinnies together as Liam literally salutes, and Zayn gets to work catching up on Niall's head start. Louis plops down next to him, warm and floppy from Niall's favourite brand of cheap, college swill, cuddling up to him with an arm slung around his waist. He drinks more to stifle the rush of uncertainty that follows, about Louis's behaviour, the night before, the questions unanswered, because Louis's in a good mood and that should be enough.

"Missed you," Louis murmurs, head pressed dangerously close to Zayn's racing heartbeat.

Zayn kisses the top of his head, inhaling the scent of Louis's good shampoo, the chemical sweetness of hair gel. "You too," Zayn responds, and Louis arm tightens around his waist, squeezing for an instant in a way that's as intimidating and frightening as any of Louis's declarations.

~

Liam goes home a few hours later, but Louis's drunk and Zayn's had too many to drive them home, so by the third hour of blasting techno through the entire house and taking turns at the decks, they wave off Niall's offer of a spare bed and crash in the fort.

Louis's asleep as soon as he drops onto the beanbag, and after Niall's shuffled off to his own bed Zayn's left with the sluggish sound of his own thoughts and a ringing in his ears that winds him up the longer he pays attention to it.

He lies out on the rug, head propped up by a hill of throw pillows, a sheet pulled over him even though he doesn't need it. He watches Louis sleep, more peaceful than he's looked in a long time, until he eventually drifts off, too. He's awoken several hours later to find Louis leaning over him, cocky smirk lifting the corner of his mouth up. Moonlight filters through the gaps in the fort and lights up Louis's skin, bounces off the sharp cut of his cheekbones, turning him ethereal. It takes Zayn a minute to adjust.

"Whuh?" he mumbles, wipes a hand across his mouth where he's drooled. Louis cackles, a loud, sharp sound that pounds through Zayn's head.

"You're a disaster," Louis replies, voice lined with something just shy of adoration.

Zayn becomes aware of how he looks as Louis's eyes track down his body -- the sheet tossed aside, his shirt rucked up to expose his stomach, his fly undone sometime in the course of the night, his hair a flattened mess. Louis stops him when Zayn tries to pull his shirt back down with a hand on Zayn's wrist.

"Here, let me," he says, an edge to his voice that sends a punch of arousal to Zayn's gut, and already he can feel himself hardening at the promise of what Louis's about to do. Fingers skate under the open waistband of Zayn's jeans and Louis slides them down as much as he can with Zayn lying down.

The thought occurs to Zayn that he should help, lift his hips up to make it easier, but he's caught up in the heated look Louis gives him, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, still managing a smirk that’s more a smoulder as he works Zayn's pants down.

"Wait, Lou, stop," Zayn grits out over the sound of his heart hammering in his chest and his dick protesting the delay. Louis licks his lips, feigning innocence.

"Yes?"

"Look, I," Zayn starts and gets distracted by Louis's thumb flicking over his hip. "If this is some kind of rebound thing, don't you think we should talk about it?"

Louis levels him with an impassive stare. "Do you?"

Zayn swallows. "Is this even, like. Is this what you want?"

Louis tilts his head, gaze turned almost clinical for a moment before his brow furrows in confusion. "How could anyone not want you?"

It's not quite a declaration and it's nowhere near an answer but Zayn still feels the bottom of his stomach drop out, and he's tired and drunk and maybe he's just spiteful, but he wants someone to take care of him for once. He wants the sparkle in Louis's eyes back, so he ignores the voice in the back of his mind that demands Louis to tell him something, anything truthful, to give Zayn something real. Instead he lets Louis pull his hardening cock out, and do all the things he taught Harry to do with his mouth.

~

Zayn spends the morning working through the fuzz in his head, which is surprisingly easy to do after years of practise. The nail gun doesn't help his headache, but it helps block out the memory of the night before, the images of Louis's lips stretched around his cock, lapping up Zayn's come off his stomach, licking him open past the point of oversensitivity. When Louis shuddered and came with a shout over Zayn's fist he saw it, fleetingly, that moment of truth Louis wouldn't give him, and it sent a furl of something ugly, some primal, protective need, through Zayn that hours later still sits uncomfortably in his stomach. When lunchtime rolls around he's almost finished refurbishing the four chairs, and he gives the heads up to Liam that he's taking an hour without attempting to look him in the eye.

Liam doesn't ask about the bags under Zayn's eyes or the fact that he nearly speared himself with a nail, but that probably means less than Zayn's reading into it. With the sick feeling still resting in his stomach he wanders down to the coffee shop where Harry's already waiting, beanie jammed on his head, espresso sitting in front of him. He's wearing a sweater that's big enough to swamp even his broad shoulders and it makes him seem small, fragile. Zayn doesn't want to think about it, or how long it's been since they've seen each other, doesn't pay attention to the relief that washes over Harry's face when he drops into a seat opposite.

"Hey, you're here, I didn't think you'd--"

"Sorry, have you been waiting long?" Zayn doesn't mean to interrupt, but Harry looks on the verge of stuttering his way through an apology and Zayn just can't handle feeling any more guilty than he already does.

"No, um, I just got here," Harry lies. The espresso is only half-finished but there's a ring around the lip of the cup that contradicts him.

Harry bites his lip, not quite meeting Zayn's eye, and the gesture brings back a flood of memories from a month ago when it all started -- the infidelity, the betrayal, the hurt on Louis's face when he dragged himself to Zayn's door but couldn't bring himself to say what happened. Harry looks like he did the last time Zayn saw him, small and afraid and guilty.

Zayn shifts in his seat, sucks at a splinter in his thumb. "You wanted to talk?"

"How's he doing?" Harry asks.

Zayn tries to compose himself through a sudden rush of anger, but it's harder to forgive Harry in person than when he was just the spectre that drove Zayn and Louis closer. "Better," Zayn answers. "He's up, out of the house. Laughing again."

Harry casts his eyes down but his expression is still readable, still as open as ever. "I'm. I never wanted that, I never wanted to hurt him."

Zayn exhales, taps his fingers on the tabletop. "Yeah, ok."

"I'm not trying to make excuses," Harry mumbles, more forcefully, catching Zayn's eye. "I mean there's nothing I. What I did, it's not excusable--"

Zayn interrupts him again, feeling bone-weary, exhausted trying to please everyone. "Harry, don't, ok? I don't need to know what happened between you two, or anything. You don't have to explain yourself. He's better, I guess, over it maybe. You don't need to worry about him."

Harry swallows. "Has he met someone?"

The bitterness inside Zayn aches with the need to say yes, but instead replies, "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" Harry cries. "Tell me, please, just. Don't shut me out, ok? Not you, too."

It hits Zayn then just how alone Harry is. How young he is, his hands balled into fists on the table, eyes wet and angry, how quickly he turns petulant. But he fucked up, end of story, he hurt Louis, and Zayn can't let his change of heart ruin what Louis's only now started to rebuild, just because Harry feels bad about it. So Zayn does what he should've done when Harry first started calling.

He reaches out and grabs Harry's hand, almost recoiling at the sudden flash of hope on his face. "Harry, hey, Harry, listen to me. You can't keep doing this to yourself, all right?"

Harry's eyesbrows draw together in confusion before his face falls, his body following as he slumps in his chair. He loses Zayn's gaze but doesn't try to hide the fact that he's crying. Zayn lets go of his hand.

"It's no good, mate. Louis's moving on, okay? You should too."

Harry nods mechanically at the table as if he barely registers the words, but Zayn's right, even if Harry doesn't realise it just yet.

"You're good for him," Harry admits, his voice hollow like a cavity, and raw. He clears his throat, continues, "You always took better care of him than I could. Not," he amends, "that he needs it, he's tough. Tougher than me. As long as he has you to pick him back up."

Zayn nods, silent. Harry wipes a hand across his flushed cheeks, smudging the tear tracks. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his sweater.

"Just. Keep doing that, ok?" Harry stands up, swaying slightly on his feet, seeming oblivious to what's happening outside of himself. "You've always been a good friend."

Zayn nods. "See you around, Haz." Harry leaves without answering, but it's better that way.

Zayn's always been a good friend. He's Louis's, before anyone else's, and Louis is his.

~

"They drilled me about you," Louis says, watching for Zayn's reaction. "About us, Niall and Liam, I mean."

Zayn exhales and blows a plume of smoke into the air that settles into a cloud before dispersing into nothingness. He normally hates smoking in bed, the smell of it all over his sheets and heavy in the air, but he's too lazy to move or disentangle himself from between Louis's legs.

"Yeah? About living together or what?"

Louis yawns and the movement jostles them. "More about, are we fucking and how soon after Harry did it start and why weren't they told and do I leave you satisfied?"

"You're lying about the last thing," Zayn accuses, but he can't keep the smile out of his voice.

"Well, not in so many words." Louis strokes Zayn's cheek with the back of his knuckles, soothing. "I offered us to give Liam a practical demonstration."

Zayn snorts. "I bet you did."

"Honestly, he's such a pervert, I don't know why we put up with his behaviour."

Zayn's laughing now, chest and stomach heaving until he can't hold his cigarette for fear of dropping it. Louis plucks it out of his fingers and drops it in a mug on the bedside table, a hiss ringing out in the room.

"What did you say?"

"Hmmm, not much. I wasn't going to lie."

Zayn nods agreement, shifts further back into Louis’s body. "Yeah, o'course. But like, they don't need to know about us. We're not like adopting, or anything."

"Oh?" Louis says, a huff of breath into the shell of Zayn's ear that makes him shiver.

"Yeah," Zayn continues, bolder now. He can feel Louis's hips press into his back, hands coming down to rub across his stomach, followed by a punch of arousal deep in his gut, his skin hypersensitive to Louis’s touch. "This is private, I don't want anyone else telling us what to do."

"Even Liam and his well-wishing?"

"Especially. This is ours and no one else's."

Louis lets out a huff of breath that skates along Zayn’s shoulder. "Mm, I like it when you get possessive."

Zayn tilts his head back to grin up at him, but it fails at the force of heat in Louis's eyes, falls somewhere in the territory of a forced swallow. He brings his arm up over his head to touch Louis's cheek, neck, feel the way his Adam's apple bobs as Zayn goes on. "You're mine."

Louis answers with a grin. "Say it again," he whispers. So Zayn does. Louis is his, now. Louis is his, and it's all Zayn's ever wanted.  



End file.
